


Start at the End

by Theskee



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Cults, Drama, Drinking, Emotional Constipation, End of the World, Heaven, Hell, Kind of Case fic but also kind of just, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Rituals, Slow Burn, Visions, and brotherly arguing, and the kids are all grown up, no beta we die like all the side characters on this show
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28655322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theskee/pseuds/Theskee
Summary: Heaven is perfect. Well... Nearly perfect. That's the problem, isn't it?Just as Dean and Sam begin to feel the creeping boredom of a conflict free eternity, something changes. Honesty, and a sudden vision have the boys coming out of retirement to pursue one last case, whether Heaven likes it or not. There's only one thing missing as they set out to save the world again:Castiel.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	1. Prologue: Love

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, and welcome. This first part is a little prologue and a bit stream-of-consciousness-y. The rest of the fic will have a lot more of a rigid structure, but thank you for clicking and giving this fic a chance! I hope you enjoy it!

Nothing Castiel had ever seen on Earth or in Heaven could have prepared him for the horrors of hell. His righteous fury burned bright, but bright enough to shine out amongst the flames. The fire burned cold, like frostbite and windchill, cutting through the endless corridors that shifted and changed the longer he was in them. When the order came down from on high, he could not anticipate what he’d see. As he stood amid the wreckage of souls and could not find reprieve from the cacophonous sounds of agony all around them, he tried to remind himself of what his purpose here was. 

His was not the only garrison in hell laying waste to every demon they could touch. There were others too, sending demons to the empty nothing that waited for all of Gods chosen and fallen. As his brothers and sisters fell, fighting the good and righteous fight, Castiel wondered if this was a fool’s errand. Would God truly let those who conspired against them succeed? As he marched onward through hell, a blinding vision of wings and starlight, he felt the first creeping doubt he’d ever had. 

What could God possibly have been thinking, to let this go on so far? How could he have allowed Dean to fall into Lilith’s grasp in the first place? Why would he wait for Dean to descend before sending his legions to step in and prevent this? Battles waged in hell had a higher death-toll for both sides than if he’d prevented this from even happening in the first place. As Castiel’s garrison closed in on the torture pits, fighting through swathes of gnashing teeth and flailing claws, that niggling thought would not leave him. 

Why would God allow this?

They were too late. 

When Dean spilled blood in hell, Castiel felt it. All of hell and the entire heavenly host felt it. The levee broke, and like fallout from an atom bomb, everything was blown away, flattened and shattered under the unstoppable shockwave. They were too late, but Castiel pressed on. He turned to his garrison with resolute orders.  _ Turn back _ , he told them. He would have to pull Dean out, and hope that somehow, they could undo the damage done, or put their fingers in the dam that was now leaking. He would extract Dean himself. He would not risk anymore of his brethren to do it. A quiet, subtle approach would be necessary, and if he perished here, then so be it. It was the will of God, was it not?

Castiel’s blade hung limply from his hand at his side as he strode quietly into the den of suffering. Alastair’s domain, filled with racks and shredded souls, made whole and torn apart, day in and day out. Time was malleable here. When Castiel finally reached his destination,a decade of wandering alone had passed. A decade of fighting and scraping himself through the muck and the mire to find his way to Dean. When he finally laid eyes on Dean, he was awash with emotion. One man, in the thick of all of the muchness of hell, was their only hope.

Castiel felt he knew Dean. There were talks of him long before this moment. Whispers of prophecy, books he’d touched while venturing through space and time as a being of pure, celestial energy. Angels gossiped and Castiel, for all his faith, had always been curious. The talks continued as they spent thirty years at war with hell. Whispers of Dean’s strength, the plans God must have for such a man, the way prophets spoke and wrote of Dean Winchester. Each story passed on with reverence and keen interest. Heavenly soldiers followed orders, regardless of purpose or reasons given, but to have something so very tangible to fight for had kept spirits up in a way nothing prior ever had.

Dean did not deserve this fate, that much Castiel was certain of. 

As Castiel looked at Dean, standing alone before a silent and slaughtered remnant of a soul, he quietly wept. This place had already claimed some piece of Dean. His face was changing. There was a subtle darkness to his eyes, like they were holding in plumes of gray smoke, and his left cheek was scaled, reddened, with the cinders of hell burning bright between the small spaces. 

Castiel reached out and placed his hand on Dean’s shoulder. The touch seared into Dean’s skin the moment they made contact. Dean hissed and jerked, pulling himself out of Castiel’s grasp as he tried to look at this being that had touched him. Castiel could feel fear in Dean, coming off of him in sickly waves, and realized that this was the first kind touch Dean had felt in forty years, and it  _ burned  _ him. 

Dean flung his arms up to shield himself from Castiel’s light, stumbling back and away from the purity and holiness he could not touch. Castiel smelled the tang of blood on Dean and the sickening scent of burning flesh. All at once, as Dean reached blindly for a razor to defend himself, Castiel understood. Dean’s soul was corrupting, falling into insidious devilry. Another ten years, and he might be lost entirely. Castiel would not see that happen. 

Dean Winchester  _ did not  _ deserve this.

“You do not need this,” Castiel’s voice was like church bells and thunder, it boomed and dropped Dean to his knees, razor clattering to the rocky floor as he tried to cover his ears with his eyes squeezed shut. Castiel knelt before Dean and reached out. With tender fingers he grasped the scaly cheek of the once-righteous man, and drew the darkness out. Dean didn’t fight, didn’t ask, he screamed, and as Castiel lifted him, he sobbed. The broken, wailing sob of a terrified man in agony so absolute it was all consuming. Castiel gripped Dean tightly, ignoring the sear and sting of their touch and flew.

In a space between life and death, Castiel took care to re-make Dean. Each scar, swept away, except for one. As Castiel considered his own blistered handprints on Dean, he kept the very first one. Others, he cast aside, but that first press of heavenly fingers to damned soul, Castiel allowed to remain. 

_ Proof _ , Castiel thought to himself, and then, more privately, more selfishly, he felt a pang of desire to have left his mark on Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester had already left such a mark on Castiel in turn. One that could not be seen, but it was felt in every fiber of the Angel’s being. Forty years had brought them here. Forty years of anguish and fighting while Castiel was full of hope, and Dean’s had been all but lost.

As Castiel returned Dean to Earth, he swept himself up into the atmosphere and flew away. Were Dean to look upon him once he crawled out of the grave, with human eyes, Dean’s sight would not survive the encounter. Castiel flew, knowing he needed a vessel. 

As he sought Jimmy Novak, he whispered a prayer to Heaven. 

_ “Dean Winchester has been saved.” _

Dean would not be inclined to agree. 

They did not get the reunion that Castiel hoped for, but he was content to let things play out as they would. Dean was tenacious and true. All attempts to contact him had been thwarted by the humanity that made Dean so… 

Castiel tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he focused on Dean. His forest rich eyes and the smattering of freckles like constellations on his tanned face. Castiel’s gaze flitted to Dean’s shoulder, to the cloth covering the mark he’d left there, and he wondered if it still hurt. If he could feel where Castiel’s grace had branded him. He wondered if Dean remembered. The trauma of being pulled out of hell may have been more for Dean’s psyche than he could handle. 

“Good things do happen, Dean,” Castiel rasped. Speaking this way was strange to him. Exhausting and raw. It had a flavor and a feel. He wasn’t familiar with the sound of his own voice, and wondered if it was as jarring for Dean to hear as it was for him, but he didn’t ask. He stepped closer, in Dean’s personal space, feeling small as he looked up into the face of the man he’d remade. Every inch of him, put back together from the rotting husk of a corpse that had been left to decay. 

“Not in my experience,” Dean spoke gruffly, guarded, glancing between Castiel’s face and where Bobby laid sleeping on the floor. Castiel’s eyes bored into Dean, perplexed, unnerved, and… Hurt. Dean didn’t recall, Castiel was certain of that now. Everything felt wrong. Castiel’s fingers twitched, an urge to reach out and comfort Dean running through them like an electric pulse. He did not answer that call. 

“What’s the matter?” Castiel looked deeper, beyond Dean’s face, into his heart, and was swept up by the darkness waiting there. Castiel felt sorrow unlike any he’d felt since Adam and Eve were forced to leave paradise. “You don’t think you deserve to be saved?”

Dean wanted to know why. Why did Castiel do it? The answer he gave was simple, mechanical, but it was not the one Castiel wanted to give. To say what he truly wanted to would be disobedient. God’s plan superseded Castiel’s wish to make Dean understand that he didn’t deserve the fate hell had for him. He shouldn’t allow feelings to slip from his grasp and drift into the air between them. 

Castiel was happy to die for Dean. The first time, he hadn’t realized he would be so willing until the moment came. When he looked at Dean and thought of all that laid ahead of him, he stung with regret that he wouldn’t be there to help him see it through, but he sent Dean away to save Sam. And he died. 

Suffering that pain and sitting in the quiet dark was worth it, to know that he’d helped Dean, somehow. And then, all at once, he was back. His body was whole, and he was back. He was able to enjoy so much more of Dean. His smile. His laugh. He’s heart.  _ Don’t ever change, _ he told Castiel. He agreed then, but it was a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep. Castiel did change. He changed because of Dean. 

He changed because of love. 

Over and over again, evolving, blossoming, becoming more human and more full, all for Dean. All because of Dean. 

Castiel was happy to die for Dean. The first time, every time after, and even the last time. 

_ I love you. Goodbye Dean. _

And then it was quiet. So very quiet. 


	2. Chapter One: The More Things Change, the More They Stay the Same

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I'm really excited to be working on this fic, as the story itself means a lot to me. There have been so many loose ends left by SPN and the series finale, and I'm trying to tie them together for myself in a way I'd want to see. So as I go work on this, I hope you enjoy my weird imagination. As I mentioned in the tags, my work is unebta'd, so I apologize for any minor mistakes!

Beer tasted just as flat and stale when it had been sitting idle on a table here in heaven as it did on earth. Jack and Castiel didn’t skimp on the details. Every little thing reminded Dean of home. Heaven was vast, endless, full of life after life. Dean and Sam had travelled for what felt like a century to see as much of it as possible, just because they could. At the end of their travels of heaven’s expansive roads, they came back to the same place they always did. 

The Roadhouse.

Among it's familiar smells they took comfort in the sounds of Ellen and Ash yammering on about one thing or another as other hunters passed through for a drink and to reminisce. It was here that Dean and Sam were able to truly relax. Heaven was peaceful, though that peace lacked excitement. Dean knew that retirement was supposed to be chill, but sometimes, it was just a little too chill. He sipped his beer with his feet propped up on the table while Sam watched the world outside the window. Sam’s own bottle was left ignored and sat precariously close to Dean’s boots. 

“You ever wonder what’s goin’ on down on earth?” Sam asked, brows drawn, face pinched and pensive. Dean lifted a brow and he narrowed his eyes at his brother. He about where this sudden question was coming from, but wasn’t sure he wanted to pursue it. Dean did think about earth, though he tried not to. After all the things they’d done, experienced, caused, and resolved, letting earth go seemed like the right thing to do. As always, the right thing, however, wasn’t the easy thing. 

“Not really. Not my circus, not my monkeys,” Dean said. It was as close to truthful as Dean was willing to get. He didn’t want to take on the burden of doubt that came with knowing the nature of people and monsters. Heaven and Hell were under better management, but people and monsters would always exist, and they would always find ways to corrupt themselves and the world. If his life had taught Dean anything, it was that there were some cycles you couldn’t break.

Sam huffed and rolled his eyes. In one fluid motion, he grabbed his beer and shoved Dean’s boots off the table. He took a swig and not for the first time, Dean noted that Sam managed to make something as innocuous as drinking beer seem broody. As used to Sam’s moodiness as Dean was, it had been a long time since he’d been faced with it. He shifted, itching under his skin, and hoping against hope that this moment would pass and they could get on with their afterlife.

“Yeah… Yeah, I guess. I just… Sometimes I wonder what’s goin’ on. With other hunters. If they’re still fighting the good fight. Y’know?”

Dean shrugged. 

“Most likely. I mean, without another ‘end-of-the-world’ hangin’ over their heads it’s probably just business as usual. Gankin’ monsters and saving people.”

Sam sighed, shoulders going lax as he deflated against the table. He folded his arms on the weathered surface and dragged his eyes away from the window. Dean could feel his brother’s gaze, heavy on him, but he stared straight ahead, defiant in his refusal to meet Sam’s look head on. He wasn’t interested in a heart to heart. They’d had enough of those for ten lifetimes. Heaven was supposed to be paradise, he reminded himself, not more of the same. 

“Aren’t you… Bored?” Sam asked. Dean set his bottle down with a deliberately heavy hand. It thudded on the table and Sam frowned, looking between the bottle and Dean’s face. Dean fixed Sam with a pointed stare, brows furrowed and lips pursed, silently willing Sam to drop this line of questioning. Of course Dean was bored, but he didn't need to voice it. This was heaven; a place free of conflict was bound to get boring for people who had only known strife. Talking about it wouldn’t make the boredom easier, and it sure as hell wouldn’t make it go away.

Sam shifted in his seat, visibly discomforted by Dean’s glare. Dean watched him take a cursory glance around the bar, and lean in. As he spoke, Sam’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. 

“You can’t tell me that after all this time you don’t feel at least a little bit stir crazy.”

Dean picked at the condensation dampened label of his beer bottle, favoring it over looking at Sam. Of course he was going stir crazy, but he was also  _ retired.  _ He expected to feel uneasy with the quiet, but there was no fighting it or changing it. Peace was part of the whole ‘eternal paradise’ package. If the trade off for freedom from pain and the weight of the world was a little boredom, he’d be a fool not to accept that. At least, that’s what he was trying to tell himself. 

“It could always be worse,” Dean said. It took visible effort, but he held eye contact with Sam, his face growing solemn, but still stern. It was a look he inherited from John Winchester, and it aged him, despite the timelessness of Heaven. 

“Yeah, maybe. This version of heaven sure beats memory lane, but… I don’t know. Don’t you feel like something is missing?” 

Dean’s fingers curled into a fist on the tabletop and he polished off the last of his beer in one swift gulp. Something _ was _ missing. It had been missing since before they’d come here. Dean desperately tried not to think about it, yet it was never far from him. Always sitting on the periphery of his mind was the thought of the one thing they’d-- no…  _ he’d  _ lost. 

“No,” Dean lied.

He got up from his seat and rolled his shoulders. He didn’t want to think about it, he didn’t want to think about  _ him _ , he didn’t want to think about--

“Dean.”

Dean’s face twisted from sadness to anger in an instant, and he turned his heated look at Sam.  _ How dare  _ his brother use that imploring tone with him. How dare Sam call him out with the simple use of his name. It wasn’t fair. Dean had spent most of his life avoiding answering Sam’s calls for emotional vulnerability, and he was determined to keep it up in the afterlife. There was a small, spiteful voice in Dean’s head that spat envious sentiments. Sam had lived a full life, he’d loved, he’d had a family, and much as he’d been ready to go when his number came up, Dean wished-- No. No, he had to stop that train of thought before it left the station. Otherwise, Sam might read it on his face and keep pressing at a sore spot that Dean had been so carefully protecting.

“We’re not talking about this. I’m goin’ for a drive,'' Dean grunted, striding with purpose out the door and into the warm afternoon sun. As he patted his pockets for the keys he heard Sam call out. 

“Dean, wait! Come on, man… Don’t you think it’s time to let go of the strong and silent crap, you’ve got nothing left to lose here,” Sam’s words were punctuated by the crunch of gravel beneath his boots as he caught up. Dean didn’t turn to face him, internalizing the truth of Sam’s words. 

_ Nothing left to lose... _

“Yeah… I know. I’ve already lost everything,” he deadpanned. He swung down into the Impala and started her up. He ran his fingers over the worn wheel, giving it a squeeze.  _ Almost everything.  _ He stared straight ahead through the windshield, pointedly ignoring the creak of the passenger side door as Sam joined him. Dean knew he could have pulled away, drove off before Sam continued with this confrontation, but there was always some small part of Dean that craved the catharsis of telling Sam everything. He  _ hated  _ that part. 

“You got all of it back, Dean. Mom, Dad, Jo, Ellen, Bobby… Me. It’s all here, and it can’t be taken from you anymore, no one needs you to be strong here, so just… Please. Talk to me. I can see this place getting to you, it’s getting to me, too. So--”

“I don’t hate it here, Sammy. I don’t. Don’t project your feelings about this place onto me, man, just let me enjoy the afterlife without the monthly line of questioning about my mental health. We’re not on earth, I’m not suffering, everything is fine. So just drop it!”

Dean hadn’t had to raise his voice in quite some time, and surprised himself with the sudden shift in tone. Hearing himself yell momentarily broke the spell of perfect, heavenly peace. Dean felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. It felt like it shouldn’t be possible to yell in anger. Dean’s skin prickled all over and he realized Sam was staring at him. He could picture that wide, puppy-eyed stare of confusion and hurt. The more things changed, the more they stayed the same.

“I don’t hate it here either, Dean. I just miss living, and I think you do, too.”

“What? Miss headaches and heartburn and having to pay for gas and beer? Miss nightmares and monsters and the end of the world?  _ No. _ I don’t miss it.”

“That’s not what I meant, Dean. I mean I think you miss having a purpose.”

“Purpose got us screwed over six ways to Sunday every single freakin’ time, Sammy. Why the hell would I miss  _ purpose? _ ”

The only sound for a long while was the idling of the Impala’s engine. Dean watched Sam from the corner of his eye, and waited for the levee of silence to break again. They’d done this dance hundreds of times over the course of their lives. There was one more profoundly heart wrenching statement up Sam’s sleeve, Dean just knew it. His grip on the wheel was white-knuckled, his jaw clenched, and his shoulders raised defensively. 

“You miss Cas.”

_ There it is _ .

Dean slammed his hands against the wheel and shook his head. 

“Damnit, Sam!” 

Dean tried to appreciate that Sam fell quiet as he shut off the engine and slouched down into his seat. He ran a weary hand over his face and closed his eyes. When he did, he could see Castiel in his final moments, smiling, content, tearful, leaving Dean behind. Saving him. He should have tried to get him out of that place, but he  _ knew _ . He knew that it was fruitless and that it would simply continue the never ending cycle of world ending bullshit they’d been dealing with for most of his entire adult life. They couldn’t keep cheating death and expecting peace.

“Dean--”

“Don’t. Just leave it alone. Please.”

“It’s okay--”   
  


“No! No it isn’t! Jack brought him back, made this place better  _ with him _ , and he’s alive and he’s _ free,  _ and I don’t blame him for not wanting to see us-- see  _ me.  _ Why would he when we left him there.”

The fight in Dean tapered off slowly, and then all at once. His face was flush, his eyes wet, and he propped his head in his hand with his elbow braced against the open window. They sat there as the sunlight of heaven slowly turned orange, and then red. The sky was soft blush colors and deep rouge, fading at the horizon that stretched on endlessly. Dean felt the minutes pass like centuries as he ruminated on the past that he’d tried so hard to avoid. It was quietly burning a hole in him, and had been since the moment he watched Cas get swallowed up by the Empty. 

“You know… He… He made a deal with the Empty. It would give back Jack, but it would take Cas when he… when he felt true happiness,” Dean’s voice rasped against his throat as he spoke. He couldn’t look at Sam. If he did, he was afraid he wouldn’t say the words that hung heavy in his throat. He marveled at his own inability to avoid this pattern, even after death. In the end, he’d always tell Sam. He’d always confess.

“It was… me. He loved me… That’s… That was his moment of true happiness. Realizing he loved me. He said… that the one thing he wanted, he knew he could never have it… but he didn’t care whether he could have it or not, just getting to be… in love with me… was enough. And then he died, and I didn’t do anything to try and save him or get him out. When we killed Chuck I just let him go,” Dean felt the sting of a tear slipping over his cheek. He wiped at his face and shook his head.  _ Inhale through the nose, exhale through the mouth, steady Dean _ .

“I don’t think Cas would hold that against you, Dean,” Sam said. Dean felt the weight of Sam’s hand pressing down on his shoulder. The familiar gesture of reassurance did little to assuage Dean’s feelings of guilt, but it was still appreciated. As he thought about all the things that never seemed to change, Dean was grateful for this one in particular. Sam would always be there for him. 

“Then why… Why wouldn’t he be here when I got here. Why did I have to hear through Bobby that he was okay?” 

Dean watched Sam shift uncomfortably in his seat. He knew the thoughtful look now darkening Sam’s face. Whatever he was going to say next, Dean was certain he didn’t want to hear it. He also knew he  _ needed  _ to.

“Well, Dean… Do you think you’d be jumping at the chance to face the person you confessed your love to, if you were absolutely positive they’d never return those feelings?” 

Dean slouched out from under Sam’s touch and pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes.  _ No, I wouldn’t _ , he admitted to himself but he couldn’t bring himself to breathe life into those words. He wanted to believe that Castiel was  _ better _ than him, that he would be willing to at least talk it through, to try and keep what they had--

Dean’s thoughts were cut short. A ringing sound began to rise in his ears, slowly, painfully, and he lowered his hands from his eyes, blinking against a static that was building at the corners of his vision. He choked on nothing, body going rigid in his seat. White-- He saw a blinding, endless white. He felt his throat flexing around a scream, but either he wasn’t able to get the sound out, or the ringing was so loud he couldn’t hear himself. 

Cutting through the expanse of blinding white, like a ragged hole ripping through the body of reality, darkness poured forth, inky and it curled around Dean, filled his lungs, up his nose, down his throat, in his ears until he was consumed. 

_ “Dean! Dean Winchester? If you can hear me-- I need your help! You and Sam-- You have to--” _

A voice called through the dark ichor, and Dean could swear in the swirling blackness, he saw flashes of a face that was familiar, but he’d never seen before. Mousey brown hair, deep dark eyes, and a smattering of freckles on a stubbled face. The voice sounded far off, and the ringing made it almost impossible to understand. 

_ “Please! They--” _

Dean inhaled sharply, eyes snapping open. He was on his back, gravel digging into him, with Sam staring over him, panic in his wide eyes. 

“Dean? Are you okay? You… It looked like you were having a seizure,” Sam fretted over him as Dean tried to sit up, only half listening to Sam’s line of questioning.  _ Does anything hurt, how are you feeling, talk to me,  _ the usual… Dean shoved Sam’s hands off of him. 

“I’m fine… It wasn’t a seizure. It… It was a vision.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear your feedback! Hopefully the next update will come sooner rather than later, but I do have a toddler and he's very time and energy consuming. Wish me luck!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! The next chapter will be up very soon. I already have it done, just need to do a bit of editing!


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